


am I capable (not gruesome just human)

by VoidDamned



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Non-Canonical Character Death, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29423340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoidDamned/pseuds/VoidDamned
Summary: Many worlds exist parallel to the ones we find ourselves in - many versions of ourselves and others exist. It's a fact that the Outsider and the void as a whole knows best - witnessing the worst facets of humanity on a grand scale.Corvo Attano does not serve as the Royal Protector and Daud does not kill an Empress.Something breaks anyway. Maybe it always does.
Relationships: Corvo Attano/Daud, Corvo Attano/Daud/Thomas, Corvo Attano/Thomas, Daud/Thomas (Dishonored)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 23





	1. As it begins

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first fic in a long time and honestly I've had this idea for a while but never really wanted to post it (because that meant writing and effort) but I've really felt like sharing this so I'll do my best.
> 
> My updates will be irregular at best as I haven't even finished chapter 2. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and please let me know if you think any further/additional tags should be added or if I should add anything else
> 
> TW: there is allusions to child sexual assault, there aren't explicit or stated at all however I thought I'd tag as it could be potentially triggering  
> CW: non-canonical character death.

The Void has existed for long before the Outsider, an unparalleled level of chaos. No, the Outsider is a face to the faceless, a name to the unknown. They are the puppet of chaos, an extension if it, an embodiment of interest and order out of chaos. Out of chaos they make order, records of times come and gone, the worst if humanity imprinted into a bottomless cold, eternal records or humankinds mist interesting. The void holds many things: time, souls, possibilities. It holds the Outsider in an eternal cradle destined to collapse like a star, inward and outward in a devastating explosion 

Which is where we find ourselves - some fates look very similar. Corvo Attano, the ever loyal Royal Protector. Daud, the Knife of Dunwall. Delilah, a witch and an Empress. Still, they change, bloodthirsty or a shadow. 

But that is not our story - that is a past iteration, a possibility drawn from the unyielding waves of the Void, washed up and collected by the Outsider. No, our story is different, somewhat. 

Daud, the Knife of Dunwall. Delilah, and her hunger for revenge and the throne. 

But, dear Corvo? Marked and vigilant, but not the Royal Protector, for it is the wrong time. 

As for Jessamine Kaldwin, she dies, and is bound to the Void. 

Choices are made, and the Void watches. Choices are made, and it is accepted.

*-*-*-*  
In his thirty-four years Daud has killed plenty of nobles, enough to drown a city in. His blade has tasted blood, both innocent and guilty. 

An Empress is another contract, should be, just another contract. Even as Daud accepts, as Hiram Burrows smiles that smug, self-satisfied smile, Daud knows it isn’t that easy. He wishes, deep inside, sure that the Outsider revels in such an interesting want, that he could string Hirram Burrows' body up in public execution. 

(He loathes being right.)

The morning had gone as smooth as it does in Rudshore; Rulfio and Rinaldo preparing breakfast, Billie sulking over her coffee and Thomas sat down, eyes closed. Coffee mug in hand, Daud shakes his head at Thomas' sleeping form, sitting in next to his second-in command. 

Despite Thomas seeming to be sound asleep, there’s still lingering tension, his shoulders tight with it, and Daud can’t blame him. All of them can feel it, a high-strung tension in the air, pulling at their fraying nerves. Daud imagines that’s why Arden and Feodor haven’t yet crawled out of their beds yet, still clinging to the idea that they don’t have to kill an Empress just yet. Still, sunlight begins to appear, the night losing its grip on the sky, and Daud reckons it’ll be a few hours before the rest of Dunwall wakes. The trip to Dunwall Tower wasn’t likely to take them more than a couple of hours, and the Royal Spymaster had warned that it would likely be an hour before midday, that they could find the Empress alone, alongside her daughter. 

The dynamic duo that makes up Arden and Feodor stumble through the kitchen doors moments later. They lean again against one another, like a mockery of the structures and walkways around Rudshore. Daud finishes his coffee and moves, to get another whilst he finishes up plans. 

“I want you all in my office in an hour,” he barks, enjoying the way Arden and Feodor snap into alertness and cling to one another. It’s tempered by the way Thomas flinches into consciousness. 

He nods to Hobson on his way out toward his office. 

The plans are clear and concise, mix and matched between Thomas, Billie, and Daud’s scrawl. Thomas’ is barely legible, whereas Billie's is neater but it’s a looping scrawl that isn’t much better. Daud shakes his head, takes a swig from his coffee and brings his chair over whilst he waits. He wonders if they hadn’t chosen this life would their handwriting be more legible. 

They come in, only Thomas and Billie not looking dishevelled, the others managing to look like they took a rough freefall off of a streetlight. Wouldn’t be the first time. 

Running over the plan he outlines the exact locations and timing; water lock, water lock roof and then the gazebo, where they should find the Empress and her daughter. The Royal Protector – a Gristolian named Payton Simmons – had died a few months past and due to the army being spread thin across the Isles and Dunwall, had yet to be replaced. Daud doesn’t doubt Burrows' role in that, making up easier for the assassins to deal a killing blow.

The journey is long and upon their arrival, Daud thinks they must have burnt through three mana remedies each. Still, business is business.

He sends Billie and Arden ahead to scout, whilst he and the others make easy work of the guards stationed in the control rooms. The blood soaks their blue uniforms a dirty purple. 

Billie opens the door, Arden crouched just behind her. Their bodies heave with breathes, and Daud is unsure where mana strain begins and fear ends. “The Empress is already dead.” 

“What,” Daud states, an almost growl. He doubts that Burrows was stupid enough to make a contract with someone else, or risk killing her himself, not when it’s easier to let someone else risk getting caught. 

“There’s a woman – talking to her daughter,” Billie says, sounding uncomfortable. 

Daud doesn’t know what or who that is and he hasn’t really got the time to question it.  
“Go,” he commands, and they follow. 

He transverses quickly, burning through mana quickly and probably unwisely. From the vantage the water lock roof grants him, he can see the Royal Physician and Spymaster convening and the High Overseer and guards scattered as though their Empress isn’t dead only meters away. 

And she is, Daud can see the blood pool that's forming under her body, and he can see the woman that Billie had mentioned. 

Her hair is short, and Daud thinks she’s adorned with flowers. She towers over the girl, and her blade unsheathed makes her all the more intimidating. Daud moves. The woman doesn’t seem shocked, and turns slowly, smiling as she sees him. Daud's seen worse grins. The girl doesn’t take her eyes off her mother, shocked. 

“Daud,” she says, crooning. Daud is unsettled but he tries not to let it show, baring his teeth in a snarl. 

Daud feels the tug on the arcane bond that tells him that the others have transversed. 

The woman eyes them all, “I realise I wasn’t the only one out for blood today, but I didn’t anticipate so many of you. Lurk, did you omit that from our last meeting?” she says and something in Daud stops. 

Clearly, something in Billie also stops. Her head moves and in the glassy eyes of her whaling mask its clear she’s torn between the woman and Daud. It makes him almost sick. “I never meant for -" 

“For what?” The woman interrupts, “For me to make a move? You should’ve worried about slitting his throat.” 

“Delilah,” Billie says, sounding like a warning, an apology and hatred all at once and steps forward toward the woman, Delilah. She gets close, out of Daud’s range and into Delilah’s. 

And Delilah is quick. 

Her blade is already unsheathed and bloody, but it’s still horrifying to watch it sink into Billie, the blade emerging. She removes the blade, and Billies goes limp, collapsed on the floor. 

Daud doesn’t know what to do. He wasn’t prepared for this. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas moves for the Kaldwin girl, and Delilah takes a step toward him. Daud burns with anger and still cannot bring himself to move. Feodor shoots. It catches Delilah's arm and all she can do is sheathe her sword and hiss at them. Thank god for Feodor and his speed. 

“I will end you, Daud,” she snarls, vicious. She transverses away, and through the ringing his ears, Daud can hear the guards, scrambling and moving toward them. For a long moment, he thinks he might simply pass out. He can’t take his eyes off of Billie. 

Thomas pushes the girl, with a gentleness that Daud marvels at even as Thomas shakes all over, and Feodor grabs the shell-shocked child and transverses away. The guards have almost arrived at the gazebo. Arden grabs at his arm pulling and transverses away, dragging him along for it. 

The stumble onto the water lock, and are halfway across. Without Billie. Without – 

“Where’s Thomas?” Feodor asks, turning around rapidly in many directions and finding no sign. Arden lets go and moves back toward the gazebo, frantic by the way he slips.

“They have him,” he calls back, sounding hollow, and the others feel even more ill. Daud feels the Mark burn and tries desperately to pull at the arcane bond, to pull Thomas but he can’t quite grasp it, isn’t sure why he can’t summon the Void now. 

Arden grabs Daud again and they all begin moving back home before anything else, even as the ache that Daud knows resonates in them, resonated in the bond tells them to go back. Back for Thomas, back for Billie. It makes him uneasy, even knowing Thomas isn’t dead yet ( _yet_ ) and the branches of the arcane bond feel uneven, make Daud feel off-balance, even as Arden supports his weight. 

Daud doesn’t remember getting back to the base, nor getting to his office. Yet he is there. Without Billie. Without Thomas. 30,000 coins richer. 

It isn’t worth it – the blood of his people on his hands. He’d give every penny, every bit of gold that he’s ever earned, ever could find, if it meant having them in the flesh again. He doesn’t close his eyes – he sees the bloodied body of Billie and the smile of Thomas burnt onto the back of his eyelids. 

Sleep doesn’t find Daud, but the Outsider does. 

“I see you’ve met Delilah,” they croon, every bit like their charms and runes, “she is ambitious and she was capable of offering Lurk something she coveted deeply.”

“My position,” Daud rasps. He knows this game well, still, the knowledge does not comfort the ache within him. 

“You understand this game well old friend,” the Outsider says. “Part of her is still eight and wishing she had a ship to captain and a crew to lead. The other wanted your power, your place, amongst your people, and amongst the void.

And now, she can have neither.”

“No, she can’t,” Daud says. The Outsider tilts their head, eyes searching for a long drawn out moment that really can’t have been longer than a few seconds. 

“I wonder what truly saddens you, the unknown or the known. You’ve seen Billie’s fate, bested by her own ally, dead. But what of dear Thomas',” the Outsider smiles, with too many teeth, “it’s likely the Overseers have him now. And you know what they do to heretics now, don’t you Daud?”

Daud wakes, and Billie's jacket is on his desk. (It is wet and soaked through with her blood. Daud can’t bring himself to move it.)

Daud doesn’t kill an Empress – and still, something breaks.  
-*-*-*-

When he was seventeen, Thomas’ father tried to kill him. Thomas killed him first. That’s how Daud found him, bloody blade in one hand, the corpse of his father at his feet. The weight of murder is an easier weight to bear than what his father had done to him. 

Rescued (or, recruited, Thomas supposes that semantics don’t matter much) at the age of seventeen, Thomas has always admired Daud – many that exist in the underbelly of Dunwall can admit that too, albeit grudgingly. Thomas owes Daud many things, loyalty an essential in their line of work. Even as the admiration ages like wine, and going as far to even be _love_. Thomas tries to bury that one. 

Thomas loved all of the Whalers, or at the very least, cared for them. He thinks of them, children clinging to one another to support, tendrils of the arcane bond binding them to one another, binding them to Daud. It felt like home. Thomas misses home. He wants to wake up at any moment, for Rulfio or Jenkins to be in the Kitchens making an ungodly amount of noise, or to worry about Arden and Feodor every time they leave on a mission, and when they come back having only just avoided any broken bones. He misses Tynan and their off-key singing, Thorpe and her horrendous cleaning habits, even as they both wake him at all hours of the day. He misses Daud, and the comfort of having the arcane bond, of embracing the void and having mana flow as an extension of himself. 

He misses Billie, misses her dry humour and fascination with the Outsider – by the void, he misses arguing with her over inane things, butting heads over nothing yet knowing each other like they know the streets of Dunwall. He mourns her, feels the ache as though an organ had been pried out and the hole stuffed with lead, a simultaneous weight and gape in him. 

The Overseers have good punches, although Thomas still believes Arden's is worse, reckons the Morley man had it in him to break through the metal of the masks. His nose feels broken, and blood is a familiar taste now. The threaten him with a branding, with knives to scar and kill him. Thomas does not care. He’s surprised they’ve kept him alive long enough, although, sometimes he looks at them and can’t quite separate them from the likeness of a feral wolfhound, sure that under Holgers mask there’s a snarl, bared teeth and visible anger. 

The music is still the worst – it makes his muscles and bones ache in ways they haven’t done since he was a child, and he was _familiarised_ with his father’s friends. He won’t cry.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been. He tries not to mourn that no one will save him, that he’s alone, tries to convince himself that he doesn’t want them to risk helping him. The coldness of the cell seeps in, and Thomas feels something like the Void and bone charms singing and pulling at him.


	2. a little heresy (makes two thick as thieves)

Corvo hates that he's been made to travel from the sun-soaked city of Karnaca to dreary Dunwall. A definite downgrade. He hates why even more so than the city itself.

It's word of Jessamine that brings him here, prowling amongst the rooftops for word and hearsay – somewhere to begin. 

His prowling only barely tempers the grief that claims his heart – he thinks of a year gone by, of Jessamine on Fugue welcoming him into her safe room and Emily sat there colouring, smiling up at him as though the thought of only seeing her father once a year wasn’t a strange thing at all. _Emily_. She’s missing, and he suspects finding the blade that claimed Jessamine is as good a place as any. 

He finds himself at Clavering – he is so unused to Dunwall not buried in the throes of Fugue, decadence and heresy branding their streets like banners of self-indulgence. The Bottle Street Boys could offer him something – although, rumour has it they’ve be hostile, vicious as of late, snapping and swinging for the unlucky hagfish that walks through the Distillery. He had heard clanging earlier, muttering about something or other, an elderly woman, and for a brief moment entertains asking her about the assassination. 

It’s a weak lead, but anyone less likely to bite his head off is worth his time. 

The elderly lady does, in fact, know things. A bit out there and beyond rationality, Corvo will not deny, but she is confident and sure, even as she mistakes him for her husband. She is in conflict with Bottle Street (Corvo doesn’t really think he can call it ‘conflict’ given that she’s almost three times his age, yet after dispatching of the thugs, he feels the Mark burn with coldness, and he thinks that there is more buried in her bones than he realises.)

Corvo keeps note of the feeling, the way the Void emanates from her in a way that makes his bones sing with the music of bone charms and runes. She tells him of a conspiracy, of murder from the inside. Corvo swallows thickly and thanks her for the gifts and information. 

He moves across rooftops, and finds himself in Holger Square. In the centre, there’s a man, baring the heretics brand, held in stocks. Corvo keeps to the rooftops, but watches to see if the man is alive; after a moment Corvo concludes that it doesn’t matter, but with the plague and general conditions anyway, the man was likely dead. 

Corvo makes easy work of getting inside, familiar with the art of stealth and black magic, ever weary of the famed music boxes of the Abbey. He sets his sights on the High Overseer – he assumes that’s who Granny was talking about, or at least aware. Corvo is familiar with his infamous black book that is speculated to carry his secrets, and he’s also heard of overseers who got caught not _restricting the lying tongue_ and finding themselves an unfortunate fate at the end of a sabre or heretic’s brand. 

He plans on, er, _taking out_ the High Overseer, on his way through. He might as well. Saves him an extra journey. Call it a personal vendetta against the Abbey. 

The High Overseer – Campbell if Corvo remembers, never particularly concerned with the Abbey, not when they’d probably attempt to kill him for heresy – is busy, so to speak. There’s the Captain of the Watch in with him, Corvo unsure of his name, but still. Rumour spread amongst the Overseers (Corvo catching wind as he looted their runes and bone charms) that a poison of sorts had been imported just days before. Corvo didn’t want to chance letting the High Overseer commit murder. He shatters both wine glasses and perches on a storage shelf. He doesn’t have to wait for much longer. 

The show as provided by the Watch Captain and Campbell is amusing, certainly, so much so that Corvo thinks he understands a little of what the Outsider so enjoys about watching. Campbell, the weasel, pulls the Watch Guard into a secret room, practically doing Corvo’s job for him – a blink and then Corvo nearly glides across the room and as Campbell begins to turn, eyes wide and a yell on his lips, Corvo shoots the sleep dart into his arm, the heavy man slumping and dropping to the floor with a _thud_. 

Death for a weak-willed man is too merciful. 

The Captain turns hastily and draws his sword, staring down at Corvo. Corvo's finger itches for a moment, resisting the urge to reload and sleep dart the Captain too. The Captain leans forward slightly, as if to attack and yet he hesitates and then sheathes his sword instead. Corvo allows some of the tension to bleed out of his shoulders. The cloth pulled up over his nose and knotted behind his head gives him a sense of anonymity – the man scrutinises him, until he says, “I ought to have you arrested and locked up. But,” he stares at the body on floor, “you saved my life.”

The Captain inhales deeply. “This once, I’ll allow this _discretion_ , as long as you don’t hurt anyone else.”

“Not my intention,” Corvo says, moving to pick up the High Overseer. 

The Captain nods and leaves the secret room from the way he came, and Corvo waits a few moments before following suit, blinking and keeping to shadows away from prowling Overseers. He reckons his best bet is the interrogation room – if he remembers what little he bothered to learn about the Abbey the heretics brand was never far from the High Overseer. 

Doing so is more difficult than intended – Corvo isn’t the only one with punishment on his mind. There’s a man strapped into the chair in the centre if the room, two Overseers overlooking the interrogation. One keeps watch over the hot iron rod – not the Heretics brand Corvo notes – and the other inspects the man. 

“Tattooing,” the Overseer says, muffled through Holgers mask, “looks like superstitious stuff, heresy for sure.”

The other Overseer chimes in, “There’s a mark on his shoulder blade – not like the one carved into runes of the Outsider but similar stuff.”

Corvo lays the High Overseer on the railing above the room and watches for a moment. 

“One of Daud’s?” The interrogating Overseer asks.

“The Whaling mask suggests so,” the Overseer says. He turns the man in the chair, “Tell us about Daud, heretic. Where is he and how many of you are there? Make this easy for yourself, so I can burn the heresy from your body and put you at rest.” 

The other Overseer uses the hot iron rod and presses it against the man’s jaw, the man gasping, and makes a sound Corvo presumes is a sob. He pulls it away and the man struggles in the chair. 

“Fuck you,” the man says, laughing. It sounds wet. (With blood? Tears?) “Fuck your strictures, you inbred bastards.” 

For people wearing masks, it’s amazing how much Corvo can recognise their frustration without their facial expressions. He reloads his crossbow with a sleep dart and he waits. The Overseer using the heated iron rod turns away from the other two men and then Corvo moves. He shoots the dart into the interrogating Overseer and blinks down, moving to use a Tynan chokehold on the other one before he can react. 

Both bodies slumped over in a pile, Corvo turns to the man in the chair, who’s already staring at him with intense eyes. He doesn’t look quite there. There’s dried blood around his mouth, nose looking broken. 

“Daud?” He murmurs, eyes glassy as they rake over Corvo's form. Its odd certainly but before Corvo can correct him the man does so himself, shaking his head, “no, no, he wouldn’t be so stupid.”

Corvo hadn’t really thought this far ahead, hadn’t considered the possibility that there’d be someone here who wasn’t an Overseer or guard. He instead chooses to drag the bodies to the side of the room, before blinking back up to get Campbell’s body. Dropping back down to the floor of the interrogation room, he has another issue – what to do with the man in the chair?

The man in the chair stares at him, lazily, not quite there altogether – Corvo attributes this to any of the various things the Overseers have at their disposal. He's in a button up, that probably used to be white, and the left sleeve is torn off, the fabric fraying at the rip. It exposes his skin and markings that cover it entirely, small glimpses of otherwise unblemished skin, the markings seeming to disappear and continue under his shirt. His pants are regular brown, and look like the industrial clothes whaling shipmates use. 

Corvo doubts his ability to stand for any amount of time. Corvo lowers Campbell to the floor for a moment, and carries the man over his shoulder, blinking up and over to the room overlook the interrogation chair. He props the man up on a chair as quickly as he can, worried about anymore of the Overseers lurking about. For all his verbal spitfire, the man hadn’t so much as moved while Corvo moved him. And, from one heretic to another, Corvo feels his heart ache, especially from the youth in the man’s face. 

He makes quick work of grabbing the heretics brand and going over the railing, dragging Campbell up half-heartedly, the heavy-set man sagging forward. The chemical that the brand uses is specially concocted – a heatless burn, and isn’t that ironic. The cold burn of the Mark tingles on Corvo’s hand. He presses it to the man’s face, Campbell groaning and jerking in his lumber before falling back into the leather of the chair. 

Corvo goes to return to the other man except his foot bumps into something. It’s a small black... box? Book? He crouches down and picks it up, the book opening to show indecipherable code at first glance. Figures. A bad person and a lot of secrets really shouldn’t be surprising, Corvo didn’t anticipate him being smart enough to code his secrets. Either way, he pockets the book and moves back to the overlooking room. 

The man (Corvo really needs to learn his name) has started to fall asleep, bleary eyes following Corvo’s movements. 

“Where do I take you?” Corvo asks softly, largely to avoid Overseers catching them and sound in an alarm. 

“Not a traitor,” the man groans, coughing harshly, body convulsing. 

“I won’t hurt... your people? I just want to help.” 

The man stares at Corvo. In another circumstance, this behaviour might have been endearing, or just annoying, but currently it’s very frustrating. Corvo just wants to help the man out. 

“Rudshore – the Financial District,” he says softly and Corvo narrowly avoids sagging in relief. He knows roughly the ins and outs of Dunwall, has spent enough time in and out of Fugue Feasts to know certain places. Although, he only really knows Dunwall Tower like the back of his hand. 

He carries the man over his shoulder, and mentally vowing to apologise once this journey was over. 

Leaving is always more difficult than entering. Still, Corvo makes quick work of it, constantly readjusting his grip to make sure the man doesn’t fall. 

The rooftops are easier to navigate, keeping him out of the paths of the weepers and rats, alongside the Watch guard. Corvo doesn’t want to risk his chances with half dead man over his shoulder. 

He approaches Grieves Refinery – Corvo familiar with the ways in which Jess would complain about the paperwork that came with the district flooding in the first place. Its towering and half intact, and Corvo cannot reach it with blink. He begins his descent to the floor and approaches a gate, hesitating at the groans of a nearby weeper. It’s too late.

The weepers’ groans get louder, alerting others in the area, and stumbles forward clumsily. Corvo doesn’t know if he could fight them and keep the man safe, and the weeper lunges and Corvo makes to blink away, even stumble backwards and –

There’s a steel bolt lodged in the weeper’s eye socket. The weeper drops in a crumpled heap on the floor, others following suit as even more drop. 

And then someone else appears in Corvo’s path – donning a mask and long black coat, black smoke dissipating as their form solidified. Their sword is drawn, gun held in their other hand aimed at Corvo who staggers backwards, mindful of the man over his shoulder and the bodies on the floor. 

The person opposite him seems to waver, their gun hand shaking a little. 

“Is that...?” Their voice distorted through the mask. 

Another person shows up beside them, similar smoke effect and Corvo thinks these people might be the man’s ‘people’.

He carefully and slowly moves the man and lowers him to the ground, resting him against a nearby wall. He makes a show of present both his hands and moving away from the man. 

The person wielding a gun lowers it, whilst the new figure lowers their mask and hood, exposing an older face and locs kept behind his head. He n toward the man and crouch beside his form. The man looks at him bleary eyed, a loose smile on his face. 

“Thomas,” the older man murmurs, “we thought – “

He’s interrupted by the man – Thomas - having a coughing fit body shaking with the force of it. The older man puts his hand on the back of Thomas’ neck in a soothing manner, and Corvo is so focused on them that he fails to remember and hear the other person, who has gotten much closer.

“Where did – How?” They seem to be very tongue tied, shocked most definitely, and they take a shuddering inhale. “Thank you – for bringing him back to us.” 

The older man has Thomas over his shoulder, and disappears leaving a quickly fading trail of smoke and shadows.

“Follow,” they say and Corvo is momentarily stunned. “The others – Daud will want to thank you.” They jerk their head, indicating that Corvo should follow and they are gone. Corvo only hesitates for a moment before following them into Rudshore. 

He hesitates going into the building upon seeing the statue of Jessamine. He closes his eyes and turns away, following inside. There are many pathways inside and eventually they get into ab office of sorts, a man in a red coat in the centre. Corvo follows closely behind his two guides. 

The man in red has his back to them, hands braced in front of him on a table. 

“Daud,” the older man calls out, voice shaking minutely. 

“What is it Rinaldo?” Daud says, voice thick and husky. He turns to face them and his eyes widen, and as Rinaldo adjusts his hold on Thomas, moving him into a more bridal position, his breath seeming to stop in his chest. 

“We need Devon and Chris,” Rinaldo says. 

“Chris and Devon,” Daud murmurs, seemingly shocked to his core, judging the stiffness of his body. He nods after a moment and through his gloves, his mark glows and then two more individuals appear, summoned. 

They don’t stop in shock, although Corvo can tell it’s difficult, both wound up with a tension he can only really remember in his father. 

The gather up Thomas and disappear away from view. Daud braces himself on the desk in front of him and takes deep breaths. 

“I never thanked you,” Rinaldo's voice interrupts Corvo's staring, “for bringing Thomas back to us.” 

Corvo is a little out of his depths here, hadn’t really intended staying, more so dropping the body off nearby and abandoning him and hoping for the best. At least now he knows that Thomas is okay now. 

“It was the least I could do.”

“You could have done much less,” Daud says, seeming a bit more together. “You brought him back from the Overseers, when we were too cowardly to do so ourselves.”

“The Overseers kill heretics,” Corvo says, and still Daud looks away with shame. 

“We could have done more.”

Corvo disagrees, but he knows that he won’t get anywhere. He doesn’t know what else to say and is fully prepared to ask for someone to help him find his way out, when the second figure he had followed here speaks up.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” they say, timid, and having now unmasked Corvo can see the way their eyes dart toward Daud, as if seeking comfort in him, “what were you doing with Overseers anyway?”

Corvo swallows. “Looking for secrets, and I was told Campbell was a good place to start. The murderer of the Empress,” he elaborates when they just look more confused. 

After he’s said that, it feels like all the air has been dragged out, leaving them in a vacuum. Everyone else in the room goes taut with tension, no one looking Corvo in the eye even as he looks at them. 

“And why,” Daud grits out, “is that of any interest to you?” Corvo thinks that Daud doesn’t intend for it to be mean and cruel. 

“I loved her,” he admits after a moment, “and she is the mother of my daughter.” 

“You’re the father to Princess Emily?” Rinaldo says, sounding more than a little faint.

No one will look him in the eye still. 

“Yes.”

“Oh fuck,” the younger person says. 

Corvo's stomach knots itself up and he feels sickened. “You...”

“No,” Daud denies, finally looking at him, “Well, yes but also no.”

Corvo’s hand goes to his sword and he clenches his fist just to feel the burn of the void. “Explain,” he says, low, sure that if he took his mask off that he’d be snarling. 

“We took a request for her death, but no, we did not kill her. Someone else did.” 

“Who?” 

“A woman called Delilah,” Daud says, looking worn down, “I’ve had my men looking for her for the better part of a week now and barely gotten anything.” 

Corvo spends a long time unleashing his jaw and relaxes his hands, letting them fall limp by his side. 

“You still agreed to assassinate her,” Corvo says. 

“We did,” Daud admits, and then, drier, “had I known I’d run into two other heretics, I would’ve asked the Outsider for foresight. “ 

“I’ll help you get a lead on Delilah, if you help me get to her.”

“Well, mysterious heretic,” Daud says, a small quirk to his lips even as his body is wound tight, “it seems you have a deal. Just don’t stab me in the back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really happy that people are enjoying the story !! 
> 
> This is the most recent thing I've actually written so it'll be a bit longer before I do another update especially since I have college and other important tasks to do but I'll try to do as much as possible.
> 
> Thank you for reading!! have a lovely day/night !!


	3. awake at last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I thought I'd give you the songs that I listened to whilst writing this !!
> 
> Dreams of Cannibalism by Typhoon  
> It's Alright by Mother Mother (also where the title comes from)  
> Saint Bernard by Lincoln 
> 
> I think they all fit the vibe quite well !!

There are a few vacant beds in Rudshore, and after a while of Corvo not knowing how to proceed and Daud internally debating whether to keep a man nearby after almost executing his love is a good idea.

(In Daud’s defence, Corvo hasn’t really decided whether he’s going to let him live or not at the end of this whole ordeal either. He’s still got a whole lot to deal with before they get there.)

Daud personally escorts Corvo to where he’ll be staying, a little away from where the rest of his men usually stay. On the way, Daud pauses in front of box, on top of which is a red coat similar to Daud’s own and candelabra. The candles are lit and after a moment Daud blows them out. He doesn’t mention it to Corvo. 

Daud turns to leave once they’ve reached the room and Corvo hesitates for the barest of moments. 

“You know where Emily is?” 

Daud was already wrought with tension but now his shoulders practically scrunch up to his ears. “Yes,” he says gruffly, “but I’ll need to check with my sources if they’ve changed locations. I gave her to the Pendleton twins, Custis and Morgan.”

Corvo nods even though Daud hasn’t turned to face him. 

“And,” Daud continues, “once we have confirmation, we'll retrieve Emily and bring her back here.” 

The words feel foreign and too odd for this situation but still, “Thank you.” 

Daud nods and takes his leave. 

Thomas finds that waking up is a new hell in and of itself. His body aches in a way that it hasn’t in years, can feel the scars and burns like he’s always felt the void presence. His nose feels set, and he can breathe through it clearly for once. 

Speaking of which, he can feel it again, not muted by the music boxes and not as severely tainted by the pain. He reaches through the arcane bond and feels around for the others, for Daud. He can feel them and for the most part, they feel okay. Thomas can’t tell whether his powers have weakened or whether its true and they are okay. 

Tears bead at the corner of his eyes, falling down his temples. 

“Hey,” someone says, and then shushes him soothingly. 

Thomas’ body jerks, trying to bolt upright, and move away, eyes flying open. His chest heaves as he tries not to give into the growing strain of panic. 

The person who shushed him has their hands out placating, black eyes soft with care and apprehension. It’s Tynan. 

They approach him slowly, lowering their hands to their sides. 

“It’s okay Thomas – you’re in Rudshore, you’re safe,” they soothe, standing at his bedside. 

Thomas’ heart eases it’s beating in his chest, feeling less and less like a bird fluttering its wings whist trapped in his ribcage. He settles back into the bed after a moment, rubbing at his eyes to wipe away the feeling of sleep and tears. 

“How long was I out?” He asks leading back against the headboard. 

Tynan turns to the window for a moment. “About a day or so,” they say. They turn back to him for a moment, a hesitant smile on their face. “Rinaldo thought you weren’t gonna make it.”

Thomas rolls his eyes and laughs, wincing when his sides ache with pain. “Rinaldo went to the Academy of Natural Philosophy and what did he get? Expertise in worrying.”

“He’s an old man it’s what he does best,” Tynan laughs, unhindered by any injuries of their own. And then it really hits Thomas. 

“How long was I away for?” He doesn’t want an answer, not really, but it feels like a need to know. 

It feels cruel to wipe the smile off of their face, after they’ve laughed. It’s so hard to come by in this life of theirs and Thomas hates himself a little for it. “About three months,” Tynan looks down at their hands, voice a little choked up. “We didn’t think you were coming back.” 

Thomas hurts for them, his pains amplified by the ache that lances through his core. He reaches out and squeezes their wrist. Tynan moves to hold his hand, squeezing back just a little tighter. 

They sniffle a little but persevere. “Arden and Feodor came in before,” they say, looking at him again. “Surprised you didn’t wake up earlier with the racket they were making.”

Thomas snorts, knowing their capabilities to make extraordinary amounts of noise for two people.

Tynan looks outside the window and pulls their hand away. “Rulfio is making breakfast today,” they say, “special occasion ‘n' all with your return and to celebrate Corvo bringing you back.”

At his furrowed brow, Tynan frowns. “Corvo,” they prompt, “the man who brought you back?” 

“Oh.”

“You told him about us and you didn’t even know his name?” Tynan looks thoroughly confused. 

“To be fair,” Thomas argues, “I thought he was Daud with how he appeared out of nowhere.”

Tynan nods. “You’re an idiot.”

If Thomas had anymore strength he would have glared, but he took comfort in being home. He smiles. “Yeah, but you love me.”

Tynan scoffs, and pushes his shoulder, albeit more gently that they normally would’ve. “I’ll go get you your breakfast,” they pull away and move toward the infirmary door, when they stop and turn, doing a half-hearted bow, “your lordship.”

“Fuck off,” Thomas laughs, ignoring the sharp jabs of pain that lances through his sides. 

And then he’s alone. 

And then he’s not. 

Rinaldo comes through a moment later, eye twitching in irritation. Before Thomas can even open his mouth to ask about it, Arden and Feodor shove through the door after, Arden shoving Feodor to the floor. From what Thomas can see, Feodor has a death grip on Arden’s hood, and the other whaler is pushing down on Feodor’s shoulders and collarbone. Their legs are knotted together as they twist, fight for power, and admittedly it makes for a very amusing sight, until –

“What the fuck,” Arden says, breathless, winded after Feodor's knee slammed up into his crotch. “Outsiders fucking cock.”

“Ha!” Feodor shoves him off, “serves you right.” 

Rinaldo blows out a frustrated breath, sparing a smile for Thomas before turning to the dynamic duo, Arden still curled up on the floor with Feodor standing triumphantly above him. “I swear,” he says, “actual children would be easier than you, fucking hagfish even.” 

Feodor sticks his tongue out. Arden kicks Feodor’s legs out from under him, Feodor sprawling out beside him and from the pained grunt he lets out, probably biting his tongue as well. Ouch. 

Thomas snorts, reclining further into the headboard. Rinaldo shakes his head and moves to sit on the side of Thomas’ bed. 

The dynamic duo fights a little more, and for a moment Thomas doesn’t allow himself to think about why he’s in the infirmary bed. Rinaldo snorts beside him. The older man is smiling, a small closed lipped thing that reminds Thomas of home, but his body is tight with tension. He reaches a hand out to rest it on his shoulder, Rinaldo not expecting it and startling for a moment, stating at Thomas with wide brown eyes. He sighs, quirking a small smile and relaxes into Thomas' touch ever-so slightly. 

“You look more concerned than a man that’s been bit by a hagfish,” Thomas says, aiming for a joke, “’n' I know it’s not for them.”

“Hey!” Arden shouts from the floor, shoving Feodor off of him. 

“I’m right,” Thomas says, barely sparing a glance for the two. 

Rinaldo sighs again. “It’s about Corvo.”

“You're worried about a stranger in Rudshore?”

Rinaldo bites his lip, something he’s apparently done a lot of recently, judging by the red skin that’s almost purple. “It’s not,” he says, averting his eyes, struggling for words. “He's looking for who killed the Empress – and Daud told me he had asked about her daughter. He says he is her father.”

Thomas lets out an overwhelmed breath, panic briefly seizing him and his ribcage tightening unbearably, disappearing as Rinaldo grabs his other hand and squeezes it. Thomas squeezes back. “Shit, that’s a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going back to bed.”

Rinaldo snorts, leaning forward to press his brow bone into the line of Thomas’ jaw. “It’s good to have you back Thomas,” he admits softly, Thomas feeling the puffs of breath against his neck. He adjusts his arm to wrap around Rinaldo’s shoulders in an odd sort of hug, but Rinaldo relaxes further into it nonetheless. 

“Good to be back,” he says, and then looks at where Arden and Feodor are on the floor, Arden having gotten Feodor on his front, twisting his arm behind. “Though some things I could do without. Namely pains in the backside.”

“You love us, you mudlark!” Arden snipes. 

Thomas hums but doesn’t say anything else. He guess he must love this bunch of morons to want to be here so badly. 

The first few days and nights at Rudshore, proceeded easily enough for Corvo. He got acquainted with the members of the Whalers, as he did what he could to help out. Which is to say, not a lot. Corvo doesn’t know a whole lot, but finds that their equally distrustful and capable, and they probably don’t want a stranger interfering with structures they’ve been doing for years. Either way, that leaves Corvo usually relatively free to explore. 

He has to tell Daud if he leaves Rudshore and where to though. 

“You might not be one of my men,” the man had said gruffly, “but you are my responsibility whilst you're here in Rudshore, and if you go missing, I’d at least like an idea of where to start looking.” 

Even if Corvo isn’t one of Daud’s, its _nice_ to have someone have your back. 

Corvo aims to wait until there’s sign of _Delilah_ , a fellow marked according to Daud. And then he'll finish what she started. 

There’s nothing unusual for a while – Corvo doesn’t feel at home but he’s settling in, and Daud’s men are gradually becoming less weary of him. 

And that’s when it happens on the fourth night. 

He’s pulled into the void. 

The cold is as pervasive as the dark and Corvo begins to traverse the familiar landscape for what feels to be the millionth time, drawn to a presence in the doorway of a building. 

As he approaches, he notices it doesn’t feel like the Outsiders strangeness, or not just theirs , a different signature written upon the Outsiders mark. And then she appears. 

She’s as beautiful as the day he remembers her last, the last Fugue they had spent together dancing and celebrating, with Emily as they carried her around the hallways of Dunwall Tower. Her hair is up in its traditional style, and Corvo can still hear her complaints of her skull being pulled apart by the tight style. Corvo had laughed and loosened the style, carding his fingers through the hair, tucking his face into her neck to muffle his laughter. 

She’s here now – but not quite. Her form is fully fleshed, except for the flickers that make her disappear briefly. She smiles down at him, and it feels as though she knows him still, even as the void attempts to pry her apart for the secrets and knowledge she has.

“My love,” she says, disconnected and eerily similar to the whale song. Something in Corvo’s heart _gives_. “I’m happy you came so far for me, so far to help Emily.”

“Of course, always Jess,” he says. 

She smiles again, softer. “I only wish I could help you more – but I can give you something.”

The Outsider materialises from the expanse of the void, bearing a heart in their ands. Its human but parts aren’t- metals and wiring and glass jut out in a weird balance of natural and man-made. Corvo’s body goes stiff with tension, with anxiety. 

The Outsider offers it to him and Corvo takes it gently from their hands. “My heart, dear one,” Jessamine says softly. “I will do my best to guide you – so long as you let me.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, caressing the heart delicately. And then she’s gone. 

“Dear Corvo,” the Outsider says, “you’ve done a lot since we’ve last met haven’t you? A busy little crow. Eliminating the High Overseer as peacefully as you did, you really are something. And saving a heretic, indebting the most feared man in Dunwall to you? Impressive.” 

They stare at him for a moment, black eyes staring endlessly into the void of Corvo’s own. They smile. “Delilah is one of my marked, and she’s different, as you all are from one another. She wanted to be Empress and felt that Jessamine has stolen that right from her. I wonder if you’ll be able to stop her taking the throne now – when only the Regent stands in her way.”

And then it fades, and Corvo opens his eyes to the Rudshore ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello !! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed !! I do my best to proofread but somethings can slip through the cracks.


	4. decisions shouldn't be made lightly

Daud is settling in to an odd sense of normality. 

He is tense, constantly so; a paranoia expected of a blade for hire, yes, but also a paranoia of having a man who’s lover you almost killed. 

Still – Thomas is back and the grief in his heart is eased somewhat, even as Billie still haunts him – as of late it hasn’t been quite as bad as usual. He likes to think he’s started to make peace with it, with her death. 

She made her choices, and took what came. The rest is void. He lights the candles of her candelabra every morning 

Given Thomas'... _extended stay with the Overseers_ it shouldn’t really surprise Daud that he finds the younger man in front of the shrine in the early hours of the morning. 

Sunlight has barely peaked above the terraces and roofs of the house that border Rudshore, and most of the men are asleep still or on patrol – its Vlad that Daud greets on the walkways back to his office. 

The man is kneeled before it, resting his forehead on the box, seeming so much like Overseers praying to their strictures. 

For a moment, Daud is unsure whether to intrude, whether its his place or not, to offer comfort that he so rarely does. Before he can decide to continue into his office, Thomas turns and look him. 

“Master,” he says, voice thick and eyes looking wet. 

“Did Leonid approve this activity?” 

Thomas averts his eyes. “Not exactly.” 

Daud snorts. Thomas looks up at him for a moment, the barest hints of a watery smile, before he turns back to the shrine, placing a hand on Billie’s coat. Daud had cleaned it after he found it on his desk, too sick to bare the stench of her blood anymore. 

“How did you get her coat?” 

“I think it was the Outsider.” 

Thomas nods, hands smoothing over the fabric. Its an oddly full movement, and Daud remembers finding the hiding together, barely out of their teens and together, so trusting that Billie would willing ly turn her back to Thomas. He swallows the lump in his throat. 

Daud approaches him, avoids making his footsteps to apprehensive, doesn’t want to make Thomas think that he pities him or think of him as any less. To survive as he did for so long, well, Daud has known men to break for less. 

“Come,” he says, offering a hand, “can’t have Leonid catch me leaving you like this, else you’ll all be stranded when she hands my body over to the Overseers.”

Thomas laughs but his heart isn’t in it the same way, and Daud knows it’ll take time. 

He knows Thomas. 

Thomas takes his hand which he keeps hold of for support, and Daud uses his other arm to bracket Thomas without touching him, keeping some distance so he doesn’t suffocate the man. 

He leads him into his office and allows him to lean against one of the boxes he keeps. Thomas, for all his best rest the last few days, look exhausted, eyes looking heavier than usual. Thomas seems more tired than hurt, which is something Daud is grateful for, but still, he should be getting bedrest. 

It makes Daud feel a little guilty about what he’s about to do. “I’ve made a decision on my second-in-command,” he says, and Thomas stares at him with all the attention he can muster. “I want it to be you.” 

Thomas blinks. He says nothing. “You – I,” he inhales deeply. “Does this mean you haven’t had a second-in-command for three months?” 

Daud thinks he probably looks a little ashamed, as he is, “it was a tossup. Second in command or Delilah. Delilah won when Arden fell off a lamp post.”

Thomas snorts and then winces, but his smile doesn’t vanish, and seems a little more genuine. He clutches at his left side, seeming to favour his right one more. “Still,” he says, and Daud prepares himself to argue. “Shouldn’t you have a second-in-command who can, you know, actually follow you into the field?”

Daud shrugs. “Possibly, but we haven’t even gotten word on Delilah yet -"

“Speaking of which,” a voice calls from above, from Daud’s bedroom, and they look up to Rulfio's face smiling back at them. “I think I’ve just found the best news you're gonna have all week.” 

“You’ve found Delilah’s dead body? She’s a weeper?” Daud deadpans. 

Rulfio drops down beside them. “Nope,” he says, voice thick with a Serkonan accent, “I’ve found her ship.”

“A ship,” Corvo says slowly. 

Daud crosses his arms in barely concealed frustration. “Yes. A ship.”

“And you need me because?” 

Daud is tempted to pull out his own hair – or Corvo's. “You want to help find Delilah or not?”

“I want to find Emily first.” 

“Emily isn’t going anywhere,” Daud says, “Thorpe is keeping a close eye on the Pendleton twins she’ll let us know if they move her and get Emily herself. I assure you; I’m doing everything I can to keep you from putting my head on a spike.”

At least that makes Corvo snort a little. He has a nice smile when he doesn’t look like a hagfish bit him. 

“I’d still rather have Emily sooner rather than later,” Corvo says, stubborn. 

“The sooner you help us investigate the ship, the sooner I can make that happen.”

It’s both a long and short distance to the slaughterhouse. Mostly elongated by the fact that Corvo hasn’t hot the same experience traversing the area as the rest of Daud’s whalers do. He seems to be a good enough learner though, even if Daud is wary of how he’ll fight. Unlike the Corvo who had brought him Thomas, this one is drawn tight with tension, his whole body moving like a shadow, swift and solid. 

It's only slightly intimidating, but Daud reckons he could hold his own. Still, Rinaldo keeps his distance from the other man, and if Daud stays between the two? It’s his business. 

The Watch are crawling all over the place, butchers roaming the streets; meat cleaver in hand, Daud watches one boot a striking worker in the gut. He moves along the rooftops, taking out the guards who are two risky. 

Daud had stressed the importance in leaving as little evidence as possible – stealth and neutrality. Corvo and Rinaldo weren’t too pleased he could tell, but he didn’t care, their mission was more important than them not being able to kill a few people.

Their an effective duo – their quick to transverse across rooftops, knock out guards and hiding their bodies quickly, although sure that they can escape. It’s a quick process from the upper catwalk to the Slaughterhouse yard, and then a new problem presents itself to Daud. 

He’s taking a moment to hunt down a rune he’s located just above the main entrance - no time card, either hell have to find one or another entrance – when Rinaldo tranverses beside him, in a manner that would’ve startled had he not felt the Void shift. 

“Master,” he says, “there are workers locked up a little bit away from here – they may possibly know something or have something to offer."

Daud carefully pockets the rune. “Spit it out, Rinaldo." 

“Sir, what are we going to do about Rothwild?” 

“What about Rothwild?”

Rinaldo walks closer. “I understand your orders, Master, but Rothwild is despicable – and as I understand it, we've traditionally eliminated despicable people.”

Void damn him. He has a point. 

“Personally, I had considered bringing back to Rudshore – and allowing the novices to use him for crossbow practice,” Daud gives a half shrug, walking to overlook the yard, “but I suppose that a blade to the neck could suffice.” He flicks his eyes back to Rinaldo, and is glad to see some tension has bled from his shoulders. 

“Thank you, Master.” And Rinaldo is gone.

Daud starts his investigation in the building below him – he bides his time to take a guard out, dumping the body outside, before pocketing a few arc mines – he’ll give them to Thorpe to investigate – as well as a key. He doesn’t know what for but after hearing about ‘locked up workers' Daud is going to pocketing any key until one works. 

Corvo is perched upon a water tank, one leg hanging over the edge, the other tucked against his chest. Daud raises an eyebrow, but moves towards the workers locked up – mindful of the butcher talking to them. He chokes him out and drags the body to behind a wall, hiding there and holding his breath when he thinks a guard on the opposite walkway saw him. Nothing.

He relaxes and approaches the gate, tossing glances over his shoulder. He pulls out the keys he pocketed and tries them – there weren’t many options and it’s quick that one of them clicks and the gate opens. 

“Thanks Mister,” one of the worker says, “I’ll give you my time card if you switch off the wall of light – so we can sneak past at the right time.” 

Daud nods and pulls away, turning to leave only to almost bump directly into Corvo. He’s slightly taller than Daud, an irritant in and of itself, so Daud has to look up to meet his eyes, or rather his eyes of the whaling mask. It had taken a lot of convincing, but after they reminded him that they were going to a slaughterhouse, he wore it, although reluctantly. 

“I’m going to remove the whaling tank,” he says. 

Corvo inclines his head slightly. “Already done.” 

Daud grits his teeth for a moment. He unclenches his jaw and nods. “Your free to go gentlemen,” he calls over his shoulder, still mindful of the guards. 

The man approaches, pulling the time card from his coat pocket and handing it to Daud, who pockets it himself. He nods toward the slaughterhouse. “Let’s go.”

Working from the inside is an entirely different matter – cramped spaces that are harder to navigate and butchers in nearly every room, and Daud clenches his jaw, feeling the headache brewing in his sinuses. All three of them are on an overlooking catwalk, looking over a room with two butchers and dead body inside. Rinaldo had alerted them to cargo crates, fitted for live shipments, even as he stated his displeasure at doing so. 

(“I just think we should have options. Outsider’s eyes know you aren’t known for your judgement.”

Daud had glared fiercely at his hooded head. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Jordan’s still alive, and not floating face down in a river,” Rinaldo said, getting up and stretching from his crouched position. 

Daud was still galling but he wasn’t going to dispute.)

“We could just take them all out,” Rinaldo says. 

“There are three of us,” Corvo points out. 

Daud pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need a sedative.” 

Regardless of how Daud feels, it is the best option to go with. They bide their time and move in sync, takedown timed almost perfectly – apart from the one butcher who turned to sooner, thankfully Corvo jabbed him in the throat before turning him and pulling him into a chokehold. Mildly impressive given his lack – or what Daud interprets, given Corvo doesn’t do a whole lot of talking – of formal training. 

Rinaldo even let’s out a low whistle in appreciation once they know their alone. “You have got to show me that one, Attano.” 

Corvo ducks his head and they continue through, looking for the offices. 

(The whale is another matter – Corvo was impulsive and shot two sleep darts into two butchers and choked another to sleep all for whale oil tanks. For what? To electrocute the whale to death. 

Regardless, when asked about it, Corvo doesn’t answer and simply looks ahead. Daud's Mark burns slightly less than it usually does.)

Eventually, as with most things, they stumble across it. It’s voice that carry, and Daud notices the catwalk above the corridor. Inside the room, he finds Rothwild and Ames? He believes someone had mentioned her name, but he can’t quite remember. 

Before Rinaldo and Corvo can move – and they do move, eerily so, like two pieces of the same limb minus the joint that binds them – Daud raises a hand to stop them. He equips a sleep dart and waits. 

It’s mostly empty threats – Rothwild is a powerful man, but from what Daud has gathered he wields his butchers better than a cleaver and has not done dirty work in a long time. His butchers are something else entirely, Rothwild is simply the cash cow that keeps them leashed. 

He stops his rambling after a moment, seeming to flaunt his height over Ames' smaller stature, and Daud lets loose the bolt into the side of his arm. His body still for a moment, entirely upright, before slumping over. Ames' squeals, moving backwards hastily before he can fall onto her. 

They all drop down. Ames steps back again, eyeing them warily, tracing the scar on Daud’s face and the whaling masks of the other two. “I know you – Daud, the Knife of Dunwall.”

Daud grunts. “Do you know anything about The Delilah?”

“The whaling ship?” her brows furrowed and then relax, “I can tell you what you need to know if you’ll do something for me.”

Daud grunts again. Rinaldo fidgets. 

“Blow up the factory.” 

Daud is going to go back home and sleep. For a week. Or else the headache might never go away. 

“And how,” he says, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw even as it aggravates his irritated skull, “do you propose that we do that, Miss Ames?” A cruel part, that he’s surprised even still exists, is satisfied in the way that Ames flinches back ever so slightly. 

“The valves,” she says, “there’s enough whale oil in the tanks to destroy the entire factory – just open all the valves at once and it’ll flow and level the entire thing.”

“And the people inside?”

“All the workers were striking, locked up or elsewhere. The butchers can due screaming for all I care.” 

Daud grunts, looking over to Rinaldo. He guesses the whaler will get his way after all. 

“Don’t con me,” he says after a moment, “where can I find you after I’ve done all the valves?” 

“Here,” she says, ignoring the (likely) bewildered look Daud sends her way, “there’s a ten-minute window that means we can all get out safely – not the butchers, the alarm won’t sound until its too late for them.” 

Daud nods and takes the valve wrench and begins moving away. “You two, stay, I’ll be quick.”

If Ames is afraid, she doesn’t show it. 

Daud makes quick work of finding each valve, using the valve wrench to shift each one to open, each letting out bursts of steam and eerie creaking noises as the metal dealt with the influx of pressure from the whale oil. A few of the butchers have started to wake up on his way around – he’s at the last valve and he damns neutralising when he’s going to blow the place sky high anyway. He finishes off the last one and quickly let’s loose a bolt into the butchers eye. 

He makes his way back to Ames quickly – they’re running short on time as it is. She isn’t surprised nor startled when he transverses in front of her. 

“The Delilah Miss Ames – what can you tell me about the Delilah?”

“It’s a whaling ship,” she says “sold to Rothwild by Barrister Timsh – up in the legal district.”

“I’m familiar with Timsh,” Daud interrupts and Ames pauses for a moment.

“It was named after a lover he had taken – Delilah – an apprentice of Sokolov. After their parting, Timsh sold it. He was scared; men like Timsh don’t scare easily.”

Daud nods, “Thank you.”

Ames nods and begins to leave the building.

“Let’s go,” he orders transversing away. 

They make it as far as the water tanks when the alarm calls out – “If you are in the vicinity of Rothwild's slaughterhouse, get away immediately!”

It takes a few longer moments for it to entirely blow – at which point they are well beyond the reach of the explosion, the slaughterhouse giving out and the frames collapsing. 

It feels good in an odd way. 

Since the Empress there’s been an odd fear – irrational and overwhelming, that maybe Daud had lost his edge, a dull knife that couldn’t cut butter. But witnessing his actions and his power? Its invigorating – it makes Daud feel like he did before they goddammit contract – before he lost Billie and almost Thomas. 

It’s good. Still, blowing up entire buildings into rubble is something Daud really ought to not make a habit of. 

The message clearly carried over Dunwall upon their return he’s greeted with the wide-eyed Tynan and a smiling Rulfio.

“Glad to see you haven’t gone soft old man,” the younger Serkonan teases. 

“You sure?” Daud asks, “Your more than welcome to test it again – bring your blade.” 

Ruldio laughs. 

“How was it?” Tynan jumps in, their face made youthful by the sheer excitement. “Was it a big explosion?” 

Rinaldo, whaling mask of and carrying Corvo’s, smiles at them, albeit tiredly. “It was amazing. I swear, I’ve never seen a better explosion. C’mon, I’ll tell you all about it,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Daud, Corvo and Rulfio, leading Tynan out. 

Daud runs a hand over his face, snorting softly at Tynan’s antics. It’s likely that they’d try and ask him more questions tomorrow.

Rulfio shifts from his place on one of the boxes in Daud’s office, knocking books off as he does. Daud turns to glare at him. The younger Serkonan looks at the books and smirks ever so slightly. 

“I’m off to see Thomas before Leonid gives her approval,” Rulfio announces, leaving with a dramatic flare. 

Daud rolls his eyes. 

Corvo is still there, thumbing through one of the books. 

Daud stares for a moment. “We’ll do some investigating before we make a move on Timsh – unfortunately it’ll have to be less dramatic than blowing his house down, so forgive me, if I’ve misled you about our organisation,” Daud says, dry and sarcastic. Still, he finds himself apprehensive about Corvo’s reaction. 

“Whether he dies or not is not my worry,” Corvo says after a moment, “but Delilah must.” 

Daud swallows. “I understand.” 

Corvo looks at him for a moment, and the man is usually so hardened and harsh around Daud. Not the Daud will begrudge him that – it’s a lot to forgive, even if it wasn’t his blade that stilled the Empress' heart. But now, the harshness in his eyes softens, and for something so subtle, it feels monumental. Daud wouldn’t mind blowing up another Slaughterhouse if it meant seeing the way Corvo smiles at him now. 

Thomas is feeling better – the elixirs and the arcane bond have mended his body better, no infection developing and the burns and cuts have healed as well as they’re going to. 

Leonid stares him down from over her notes. “Are you sure your fine?”

Thomas groans and slumps into the headboard. “ _Yes_. I’ve had enough bed, I’m restless.”

Leonid hums. “Okay – I’ll let the other know you’re in the clear.” She hands him a pile of clean clothes, “Get dressed – I’m sure when the others swarm you, they’ll prefer you clothed.” 

Thomas snorts, but starts dressing once she leaves.

It’s good to stand and move properly – no longer plagued by exhaustion and feeling better than when Corvo had brought him here.

Speaking of which – Thomas had yet to see the man and he wanted to. He thinks in his half delirious state that he hadn’t given proper thanks to the man, and it makes Thomas guilty, especially after so much was risked. 

He find Corvo – thankfully easily – in the kitchens sat just away from Daud and Rinaldo. 

“Thomas!” Is yelled and Thomas looks to see Thorpe, who grabs the collar of his shirt and yanks him forward to beside her. She glares at someone and Thomas turns to see Arden and Feodor at each others throats as usual. 

“Fuck off, Mudlark,” Feodor shouts, hitting Arden in the nose. Arden, ever the bigger person, swears and drags them both down to the floor. 

“Thanks,” he says turning to Thorpe.

She nods and looks him up and down for a moment and then hugs him. “It’s so good to know your not dead.”

“You too,” he pats her on the gently. For a moment, Thomas is calm, enjoying the first time he’s been touched and safe for months. It doesn’t last long – eventually they have to pull away for needs such as eating.

“Thomas,” Rinaldo calls, waving him over. 

Thomas seats himself beside the older man, opposite Corvo and Daud. 

“I never got say,” he starts out softly, and even so, it seems to startle Corvo who looks at him with wide eyes, “thank you – for bringing me back.”

Corvo shrugs, looking a little lost. “I,” he says, sounding hesitant, “it was the least I could do.”

Thomas nods and smiles at Corvo, who briefly meets his gaze before eating again. “Still, thanks.”

Rinaldo leans into him. “It’s so good to have someone sane again,” he says, dramatic and playing it up, “I won’t survive if I go into the field again – he might blow _me_ up this time.” Rinaldo frowns, “oh yeah, we blew up a slaughterhouse.”

That shocks laughter out of Thomas, his body shaking with it. Rinaldo leans more into him, swinging an arm up over his shoulder and he rests his head on Thomas’ other one. 

Daud is scowling when Thomas can open his eyes, but it softens when he looks at him. It makes Thomas’ heart do something funny in his chest. “It’s good to have you back Thomas. As soon as you can, I’d like to have you and Rulfio looking into Timsh in the legal district. He sold the ship to Rothwild,” Daud elaborates at Thomas’ confused stare. 

“Timsh has the connection to Delilah?”

“Delilah also has a connection to Sokolov,” Corvo says. After a couple of curious stares, Corvo gives a half shrug, “might be worth looking into.”

“He has a point,” Daud says. 

Rinaldo nods into Thomas’ shoulder. 

Thomas nods thoughtfully, thinking about it logically. “We could send two groups – doubt we’d need more than three for each area. More than that and moving would be difficult, especially across Kaldwin’s Bridge and the Legal District.”

Daud snorts. “Finally, someone who knows what their doing.”

Thomas can feel himself flushing, ears burning, and argues that it’s going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I hope you enjoyed !! I feel weird about this chapter, as I'm so used to non lethal, but I think that had Daud not killed Jessamine, he'd be a little less apprehensive about using violence. 
> 
> That being said, I'm not going to make this a high chaos story, I personally prefer medium to low chaos, but I've always wanted to blow the slaughterhouse up because Rothwild is irritating and mean to the whales for no reason. 
> 
> I hope my characterisation isn't too bad - I think their experiences shape them and it's hard to imagine them without them so I am trying!!
> 
> My updates will be less frequent from now on, I'm working on another piece (Eskel whump) and currently am in college full time as well, but I do want to complete a multichapter fic and I hope you can bear with me on that front. 
> 
> I hope ya'll are having a good day/night!


	5. something like revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you courtesy of me having a covid test.

“I want to get Emily.”

Thorpe had returned the previous day, swapping shifts with Jenkins, and warned the four at the table that she worried that they’d be moving Emily soon. 

“I got a hold of a letter meant for them,” she said, pulling out the carefully folded letter out of her pocket and offering it to Daud. “It says something about moving them towards the Boyle Manor?” 

Daud’s brow had furrowed - Boyle Manor? He had a man stationed there regularly, usually Vlad or Javier or Julian. Regularly they reported of parties and extravagant affairs – odd behaviour, but the wealthiest could afford it, even in times of plague. 

“Javier said they have a party planned soon, maybe something to look into?” Thorpe asks. 

Daud nods, grateful, “Thank you.”

She nods and turns to have her own food for the day. 

“Maybe Sokolov knows something,” Rinaldo says, still leaning into Thomas' side, “he is known for painting the upper classes – I swear he did a piece for the Regent recently.” 

“He did,” Thomas agrees, continuing after they stare at him for a moment. “Campbell talked about it – he’d get drunk and wander around. I found out a lot to be honest.” 

Daud pauses for a moment unsure to process. “We already need to get Sokolov for what he knows about Delilah.”

“Don’t you know Sokolov, from your days at the academy?”

Daud flushes slightly, and glares at Rinaldo who sounds irrationally smug for an observation. 

“I left,” Daud says, dismissing it. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Rinaldo says, “but he still knows you – why don’t you just, I don’t know, get close and ask. I don’t mind a good kidnapping but seriously? Kaldwin's Bridge is a trek in of itself and we don’t have a boat.” 

“Fine,” Daud says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’ll lead the team on Sokolov then – Thomas, you can lead the team for Emily.”

Thomas nods with no hesitation, picking at his food almost restlessly. Daud frowns. 

“Take Corvo with you – and please, separate Arden and Feordor,” he says, looking at the duo from the corner of his eye as they somehow manage to take out three other people in their fight. 

Thomas snorts and nods, ears flushed. 

“We'll deal with the Barrister after Sokolov – the Barrister has half of Dunwall wanting his head, I’ll find us someone who pays well,” Daud adds. 

The night is shorter than Thomas had expected. Everyone was kind enough to give him space, patting him on the back as they walked past (or Jordan, launching himself at Thomas and fake weeping in his arms about how he’s ‘missed his brother’ and Connor who didn’t let go of Thomas’ arm for an hour). 

Thomas has a busy day tomorrow - is unsure about working with a stranger, especially one he can’t feel through the arcane bond. 

He visits Billie's shrine as the other Whalers wind down, some leaving for their night shifts, others settling into beds or on jobs. 

He kneels before it, resting his forehead against the corner of it. He inhales deep and shaky. He remembers her, dying, dead, remembers the knowledge of her betrayal - _you should’ve worried about slitting his throat_ \- but that dishonours her. Instead, he summons memories of her smiling in the rare and secret moments she would, Thomas thrilled that it was something he was privy to. He remembers her dark-skin dripping water as she frowned and glared at him, after he had shoved her in the water, tossing his head back with laughter. He remembers her splashing him back with so much force it took his legs out from under him. He remembers the planning, the want for something beyond Dunwall – of Serkonos, Karnaca, of feeling the sun that they were denied, the dreams of planning and preparing for a bigger journey. 

He remembers his sister.

It’s good to have a solid aim, Corvo thinks, readying himself. Its early, earlier than he’s usually been waking for the past few days, but Thomas had wanted to get there early. 

“I know a girl there,” he had said, thumbing through a stack of contracts and pulling out _Custis and Morgan Pendleton_ signed by Shaw. “She only works in the mornings usually, and it takes a while to get there, given that we don’t have a boat.”

Corvo had nodded, eyes drawn to the flailing movements if another Whaler – Arden? Feodor? They fought so often that Corvo found them indistinguishable. 

“We are going to murder them, right?” The man had said, a thick Tynan accent. 

Thomas stopped looking through contracts and stared at him. “I think the last fall off a lamp post broke you.”

Corvo's mouth had quirked upwards, especially when the man began rattling of curses and protests, even as Thomas ignored them. 

He goes looking for Thomas, as he was asked, gear ready and eager for his daughter. He finds the Whaler in his bedroom, surround by four other beds, although Thomas is alone. Corvo knocks and a _’enter’_ allows him to go in. 

Thomas isn’t wearing a shirt. His back is to Corvo and he can see the tattooing that covers the expanse. Dark black patterns that stem from between his shoulder blades; a mark that looks like the Outsider’s but different. The marks across his shoulder blades look like webs, thin black lines that interconnect and weave over the lean muscle and fat there. They connect to the marks that cover his arms and hands wholly, permanent sleeves and gloves, though these ones resemble more maze like patterns, thicker lines. 

Though interesting (the Mark that looks like the Outsider’s but isn’t, because it doesn’t feel the same) they aren’t what truly capture Corvo's attention. The scars do. Shiny pieces of raised flesh, some from burns and others rough and jagged. They intersect his tattooing as though they had been attempted to be burnt off, or broken up. Others are older, barely noticeable. 

Jessamine’s heart stutters through a beat. “The Overseers have no restrictions on torture, neither do others.”

Thomas pulls on his shirt, buttoning it up quickly. Corvo looks away. 

Arden (Corvo learns his name after Thomas yells it, booting the other whaler into action) overslept and scrambles to attention, following suit as Thomas leads them to the Golden Cat. 

They pass through Clavering Street and towards Holger Entrance, mindful of the noise and guards below. 

As they turn to leap across the roof towards the Golden Cat, Thomas throws his arms out to stop them. Arden and Corvo turn to look at him, and he jerks his head to the side, pointing out the just barely visible WatchGuard tower over the other side. “Tower,” he says, “wait here while I disable it.”

Arden offers a rewire tool, but Thomas shakes his head, leaping and transversing across the gap, jumping over to the tower. After a moment, it stops moving altogether. Thomas appears and beckons them over. 

It’s hard to navigate – the Pendleton’s being aristocracy and all mean more guards swarm the place. Between the watch tower and getting to the nearest roof by the Golden Cat, Corvo counts eleven guards. 

“Must be more than usual,” Arden mutters, perched on top of a ventilation box. “Thorpe never mentioned this.” 

“Bound to be,” Thomas says, “she was probably right about them planning to move. And the Regent is probably concerned given the fate of High Overseer Campbell.” 

Thomas turns to look at him slightly. Corvo knows it’s silly, but even with the mask on, he avoids Thomas' eyes. 

Arden makes a derisive noise. “Where did he even go? You can’t offer aid to someone branded a heretic.”

Thomas clears his throat. “Jenkins found him – locked him up in Grieves. They think he has the plague, most likely a weeper at this point.”

“What’s the plan?” Corvo interrupts, trying to avoid rudeness. 

Arden snorts. “Ask the second-in-command,” he says, slipping down from his perch.

Thomas hand swats at him, even as Arden cowers, shaking with what Corvo is sure is laughter. 

After a moment, to Corvo's mild amusement, Thomas speaks. 

“There are three targets,” he says, “the twins and E – the Princess - “

(Corvo feels off as Thomas hesitates, stutters over it, though he can’t think of why.)

“- so, we each go for one target. Corvo, you can take care of Emily; Arden, you can take out Custis, I’ll take care of Morgan.” Thomas looks at both of them. “It should be lethal but quiet. I don’t want any guards scrambling. Understood? Arden?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Arden waves Thomas off, “but how do we find where they are?”

“I’ll check in with Alya, she usually has mornings off.”

Thomas rises up and leaves, leaving Arden and Corvo to wait for him to return. 

There’s a long pause, more uncomfortable than not, but eventually Arden speaks up. 

“When did you last see Emily?”

Corvo thinks. “Over a year – last Fugue.”

Arden turns and looks him head on. “She isn’t like, gonna forget you and shriek, is she?”

“No,” Corvo says, “she has always recognised me ever since she could.” 

“Don’t forget to take your mask off.”

Thomas tranverses back to them, only mildly startling the duo. “Alya tells me that Custis is in the Gold Room – third floor, Morgan is in the Ivory Room, the floor below – Emily is in the girls’ dormitories, third floor, but she also mentioned that the Princess has escaped a few times and so the Madame keeps her key on her at all times.

“Kill Madame or not, get the Key,” Thomas pauses for a moment. “Kill her, they’d have to replace her.” 

Corvo doesn’t question it. It’s not the time. They nod at Thomas’ orders and they all disappear. Corvo slips through a ventilation on the second floor, peering through and seeing Madame converse with a member of the Watch. 

She repeats what Thomas had told them of, and after a moment makes her way back to her own office. Corvo waits for the guard to turn, and after he does and Corvo employs the usage of Dark Vision, does he drop down and move through the same door as Madame. Her office is barely a few feet away from it and Corvo follows through quickly, discreetly on light feet. 

Her back is to him and Corvo makes quick work dispatching her, allowing his blade to sink into her back, her stutter gasp, and she falls through his arms like shadows. The key drops to the floor and he picks it up, picking up a few remedies and elixirs as he cleans out her office. 

He makes his way up stairs, dark vision engaged, seeing only two people on the third level, a Courtesan and a smaller figure, curled up. _Emily_. 

He sneaks past the Courtesan, mindful of when her back is turned. He slips the key into the clock, wincing slightly at the click, but opening it.

Emily hears it, and stands facing Corvo. She’s filthy, as though neglected. Corvo doesn’t regret killing Madame.

Before Corvo can speak, Emily does.

“Wait, you took me! Don’t-!” She raises her fist as though she intends to beat at him with it. 

Corvo nearly rips the mask off, feeling the straps catch against his skin. She pauses, staring for a moment, and the hysteria present in her voice disappears with a single word. “Father.”

He opens his arms for her, and she rushes into them, and Corvo nearly crushes her against him, feeling her, alive and warm and here. 

“She was brave,” Jessamine says, “she still is. She has not given up, even when she lost her mother.”

Corvo’s heart stutters in tandem with Jessamine’s own, and he mourns not being with Emily sooner. 

“’m here, I’ve got you.” 

She holds on tighter. He gathers her up and carries her out, back to the ventilation box where he was with Arden and Thomas, waiting for them. 

Corvo swallows. “Emily – the men that took you, they told you where to find you.” 

“Corvo,” she says, hesitant and almost afraid. “Are you working with them?”

Emily is a child, and it feels particularly to expect this of her. “They’re gonna help me take out Delilah- who ki – hurt your mother.”

Emily says nothing, staring at him with wide eyes, before burrowing into Corvo’s chest. “Okay. I trust you.” 

Jessamine’s heart settles against his own, and he knows it’s true. 

Corvo keeps her tucked against him, even as Thomas and Arden appear. Emily holds tighter. 

Thomas looks them all over, inspecting for a moment, and then turns to look at the Golden Cat. No alarms have been raise and guards are on their standard routes and watches. 

He inclines his head back the way they came and they take off easily, Corvo holding onto Emily with an iron grip. His shoulder gets wet. He ignores it. 

Returning to Rudshore makes Corvo feel easy again – it is far from idyllic, and it grounds Corvo, makes it feel less like a fever dream that Corvo had conjured up in a frantic desperation. 

All of them stop in Daud's office, giving a report. 

Without a mask, Arden’s scowl is evident. “Custis was an oddball, even for an aristocrat. Gutted him and choked out his company.”

“I killed Morgan and neutralised the Courtesan. Morgan seems to be the more, _pleasant_ of the two.”

Corvo allows Emily to stand on her own, holding her hand tightly. She looks at Daud, staring. 

The assassin stares back for a moment, before averting his eyes and grunting. 

“Was it clean?”

“No alarms went off, no guards alerted. Burrows probably won’t know until they go looking.” 

Daud nods, seemingly satisfied. “Dismissed – prepare for Sokolov Arden, and Thomas, prepare for Timsh.” 

Thomas and Arden salute Daud, a fist over their chests that they then bring to their sides and then their gone. 

For a moment Daud is quiet. Then, he bows before Emily, “Your majesty.”

“You were there when mother...” it is a fact, not a question. 

Corvo can see the way Daud swallows thickly. “Yes, I was. I’m sorry, and I can only offer my condolences.” 

Emily stares at him. “You saved me.”

“A chance of luck, more than anything,” Daud says, sarcastic, “we were always meant to take you, your Majesty.”

“Emily,” she says, “call me Emily.” She looks between Corvo and Daud for a moment. “You can’t be too bad; father seems to trust you.” 

Daud seems shocked, or unnerved, Corvo can’t tell, but he takes a shaky inhale. “I -. Thank you, your Majesty.” 

Emily settles into Corvo's room, Jenkins having prepared a spare bed. “It’s not much,” they had said, “but it should be comfortable for the little Empress,” they had smiled widely at Emily, who had reciprocated albeit shyly. 

Still, given that Corvo has what matters to him most, it is unusual that Corvo finds himself restless into the early hours of the morning. He wanders Rudshore, mindful of the sleeping whalers. He nods to the few other he finds on duty. 

He finds himself at Grieves refinery. The dark sky above glimmers with stars. 

Jessamine loved the night, often the only time she didn’t have to perform standards, when she could let her hair down and be a family. He remembers every Fugue was a delight as she had no standards to hold. 

As the thought crosses his mind, her heart flutters.

“They have not been here long, only since after the plague. The Overseers had gotten too close to their old... _home_.”

Corvo is confused for a moment, before understanding that she is talking about Whalers, and before he can say anything, talk back, someone interrupts. 

“Corvo?” Its Thomas.

Corvo hadn’t heard him tranverse. “Thomas,” he says, breathless, eyes taking in Thomas. He’s dressed in his button up and whaling pants, although foregone his usual jacket. Understandable as Corvo feels the warm air. 

“Can’t sleep?” Thomas says walking closer, but keeping some distance. 

“I don’t know why,” Corvo admits, “I’ve slept better even when I’ve been anxious.” 

Thomas makes a thoughtful noise. “There’s still a lot to do. The mind is a curious thing, it responds in unusual ways.” 

Corvo gives a short laugh, leaning back to stare at the sky. “How was your friend?”

Be can feel Thomas looking at him from outside the corner of his eye. “My friend.”

“Alya?” 

“Oh,” Thomas says softly, eyes widening slightly. “She’s fine, she was always good at staying safe.” 

“How did you meet her?” 

“She’s,” he hesitates, prompting Corvo to look at him, “she’s my sister. I think.” 

“Alya is a Serkonan name, Thomas is awfully Gristolian,” Corvo states, and Thomas laughs, dry.

“My mother was Serkonan, my father from an island off of Pandyssia,” and Corvo can see that in the dark complexion of his skin, brown eyes that are almost black and coily hair. “The man I learned to call father, was, well. Not. He was a Gristolian aristocrat.” He sounds sad, pained and Corvo doesn’t really want to hear any more of it makes Thomas sound like this, the same man who called Overseers ‘inbred bastard’. 

“You don’t need to say any more, not if you don’t want to,” Corvo says softly, leaning over to squeeze Thomas' bicep. The other man startles slightly, tensing up, before talking into the grip. He smiles at Corvo, although it seems more forced than not. 

He waves off Corvo's concern. “My mother was a maid and I naturally spent a lot of time around there. One day, he just, took me. Had my mother killed.”

“What happened to your fa – the aristocrat?” Thomas puts his hand over Corvo's, who hadn’t noticed he hadn’t even moved it. 

“I killed him. He was a cruel man, that allowed his friends to beat me, amongst other things.” 

Corvo swallows thickly.

Jessamine beats furiously. “He believes he owes you a debt. You saved his life, and he believes himself inadequate to repay you fully. His honesty and trust are all he can do for now.”

He inhales deeply, unsure of how to proceed. He shifts closer, and leans slightly into Thomas, offering his own warmth. After a moment, Thomas relaxes into his side. 

“If I intend to stay here for a while,” Corvo says, “why don’t you tell me about the other Whalers? I think most of them are avoiding me.”

“We accepted a contract against your lover; it is equally shame and fear for many. Others are not interested in you,” Thomas says, but obliges Corvo’s request, and tells him about the other Whalers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never know how to feel about my writing and it always feels disjointed and rushed to me, but hopefully it reads better you guys !! 
> 
> There's Emily out of the way and safe!! also, I don't think I ever described Thomas' appearance?? wild
> 
> I hope as always you've enjoyed this chapter and are having a good/day/evening !!


End file.
